


Death's Gift

by EmeraldFalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldFalcon/pseuds/EmeraldFalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry attempts to find a new way of life after the war and when nightmares and tragedy finally break the straw he reaches out to the only thing he can grasp, death's gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> AN: the old guy in this story does not speak proper English. His words are often discombobulated or disjointed. This is just how he speaks. You are going to have to deal with it. Don’t review telling me that I need to fix his speech because to do that I would have to change this guy’s character and I don’t want to do that. 
> 
> This started out as something big I wanted to do. Over time I lost the urge to finish it. Maybe you guys can help rekindle it.

Doll

 

Chapter One

Harry had been a part of the wizarding world for almost seven years. (Makes him 18). He had rescued them from a dark lord and Won a war for them. Bled for them…died for them and yet they never seemed to understand that he wanted to be left alone. He wanted to find love and have a family but they wouldn’t even allow him to do that. No they expected him to marry Ginny and have lots of red headed babies even if she was only after his money. Become the next minister of magic or even head master of Hogwarts. 

He didn’t want any of that. Wasn’t it enough he had saved them? Wasn’t it enough that he gave up his childhood? His innocence? His freedom? It wasn’t they just wanted more and more and more till there was nothing left of him. Even now looking in the mirror he saw someone that wasn’t him. 

Pale unhealthy skin that appeared bruised in several areas from where people ‘congratulated’ him on his victory. His once bright green eyes where now dark and dull hindered by the dark rungs of sleeplessness and haunt. He was thinner than most would think. Sure he had good Muscle definition from Quidditch and war training but over all you could still see the bones of his ribs and joints. Was this what a war hero was meant to look like; A skeletal version of his former self? It was the thing they didn’t tell you about when you signed up to fight your life away. It was always about the glory, fame and fortune. They don’t talk about the lack of food, the death, the nightmares…

They plagued him the faces of the dead; Friend and foe alike each one grabbing towards him to drag him down to their personal hell. Every night he would awake screaming drenched in sweat and the smell of death and blood clogging his nose. It was always like that. One of the reasons he never slept anymore unless a scotch came before it.

Taking a leave from the memory he walked over to his dresser grabbing his wallet and keys from the small silver dish and headed out the door; Stepping up onto the steps of his house, Grimmauld #12. He had decided to live there due to its position in the muggle world and also in honor of his god father. Sure the house was a bit tricky at first but eventually it warmed up to him and him to it. Walking over to his god father’s bike he slid into the seat with practiced ease before strapping on the jacket and helmet. The bike hummed between his legs with warm magic and with a single twist of the wrist he was flying down the roads of muggle London.  
The driving always made him feel better. It was that chance of crashing, the neck breaking speeds, and sense of freedom he got from driving the bike, that he loved so much. Tearing into an alley way he cut around some of the traffic before feeling a slight tug on his magic. Turning he slid the bike effortlessly into a parking lot and came to a full halt in front of a small broken down shop. 

He looked in through the window to see dolls scattered on shelves, each one so life like in their own way. Frowning he let his magic stretch about him and felt no other magical signature but his. How odd. Opening the door he walked into the small shop with curiosity clearing his throat he called out, “Hello, Anyone here?”

He waited a few moments peering around at the wooden, clay, and porcelain dolls about him. Each seemed so human, so alive. Reaching out his fingers traced the cheek of one of the dolls. A soft throat clear made him pause and turn. The man was tall, weathered and looked Asian in appearance. He had a kind smile and though his eyes where kind something about him made Harry almost cringe.

Slowly the war torn hero extended his hand, “Sorry I was just admiring your work. I am Harry”

The man nodded and gripped Harry’s hand with his own knotted ones, “That’s alright son. Not many people come to my little shop any more. Not most people style these days. It is good to see such a young face”

Harry smiled lightly, “You run his place by yourself?”

“Oh I have to youngin’ I don’t have children and a wife, seems pointless at this stage of life. I had always hoped that someone with the same love as mine would come along and replace me.”

Harry nodded lightly, “It seems to be a very beautiful craft. They are all so life like.”

The doll maker nodded, “That is because they have their own lives. Dolls are made with love and passion. It only makes sense that they would have their own life as well.”

Harry smiled and traced his fingers along one doll’s hair and gave a long forgotten smile, “Could I learn?”

The elder maker frowned as he observed the younger man. It had been a long, long time since someone wanted to learn his art. Giving a sage like nod, “I suppose I could teach you. But it would take many long years and you would have to be here daily. Do you live close?”

The young war man nodded, “Yes I live up at one of the Grimmaulds. I am willing to be here daily whenever you wish me to.”

The man nodded, “You might as well call me Master Lee Yung and you shall be my Apprentice.”

Harry gave a tired smile and gave a polite bow, “Teach me Master”

The man nodded and stepped through a door in the back of the shop. Harry followed slowly and he was surprised to find a set of stairs leading down. Following he was not surprised when it finally opened into a large spacious room with several in the work dolls on long wooden tables. To one side were a few barrels and boxes each most likely filled with a different work material. The other had a fully functional counter space with a sink and cabinets above and below.

In front of the long tables where two stools and the elder man took a seat at a near empty table gesturing for the boy to take a seat.   
Harry sat down slowly onto the stool and he watched as the man pulled out a small cardboard box. Riffling through it he pulled out a block of clay and set it in front of Harry along with several old worn tools, “Take this clay and make what first comes to mind. Bowls and water are over on the counters.”

Harry sighed and filled two bowls with water before taking his seat once more. The clay was odd to work with. He had to learn how to much water caused the structure to collapse and so on. But he found that he did have talent. The once block of clays seamed to form into the spectral form of a dementor’s hood drawn up and a single arm reaching forth. Setting it to the side to cry he looked around to find the elder male working on a tall life sized doll.

His breath caught at the life like eyes that peered aimlessly foreword. The man seemed to be working on the hands. Tightening screws and polishing fingertips. Harry had never seen such a life like doll it was as if it was going to move at any given moment like so many of the pictures do in his world. He took in the tall dolls features, His lean muscles and all around Olympian physique. His eyes where unpainted but just as deep as any human eyes. 

Harry sighed gently, “He is beautiful”

Master Lee paused at his work and turned, “Yes this is to be my finest doll. My master piece I guess you could say. My only fear is not finishing him before my death.”  
The war ridden man sighed deeply, “I hope you do. He will indeed be your greatest.”

The elder maker nodded before putting down his tools and turning to stare at the clay creation, “Rather fascinating piece. To fill it with such anger and fear is truly astonishing. You know how to place your emotions within your work. Does he have a name?”

Harry frowned and looked at his piece in curiosity, “I hadn’t thought…”

“Any piece you do deserves a name boy. That is what gives them life! Now finish him and name him.”

Frowning sharp green eyes looked at the piece before he left his fingers run along its hooded face, “Ebony”

Master Lee looked on in pride before teaching his new apprentice his way around the kiln. Night slowly set in as the two continued to work and finally a large sigh escaped the elders mouth, “I am far too old to stay up late. If you wish to continue work it is fine but I want you rested for the morning work. Good night”

Harry gave a nod as his knife slid over the chunk of wood in his hand the shaving falling into the basket between his feet. Slowly the hours ticked by as he carved 9…10…11…3 still he worked on getting each detail into the little wooden creation. He was a man obsessed. This is what he had been looking for. Something to do and get away from magic and the wizarding world. This gave him a chance to relax and think about his life.

Slowly he set the completed creation on the table. The snow owl with its wings outstretched was perched on a limb. He gave it a longing smile before caressing its head, “Welcome to the world again Hedwig”

He set the tools down and laid his head on the table staring at the little creation. Slowly his eyes began to shut and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

Morning came and a soft nudge woke Harry from his slumber. Sitting up a blanket fell from around him and hit the floor in a lump. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and almost smiled at how awake he felt. It had been so long since he had slept without a nightmare. 

Standing he stretched before picking up the fallen blanket. Glancing around he folded it wondering where on earth he had gotten it from. Shrugging he laid it across one of the benches and pulled the wood preserver from the shelf. He had to coat Hedwig before she dried out too much and cracked.

With a careful hand and heavy heart he lifted the brush and began to let the preserver swirl over the wood grain sealing in the purity and beauty of the owl in flight. It seemed so perfect to let his second piece be one of mourning and acceptance. His heart felt so heavy and strained even as the brush drifted over the wooden Hedwig’s eye. It brought memories of her heroic death swirling to the surface like an angry swarm. 

Harry let the brush fall from the fluffed feathers of her tail tears spilling over and sliding down his cheeks mixing with the soft wood of the owl. He slowly let them fall and splash along his hand in thick heavy drops as he let the brush continue along the fine intricate details. This was his Hedwig in flight, just as beautiful as when she flew beside him on his escape. Just as beautiful as when he held her in his arms with her last dying breath. As beautiful as when he first watched her in flight. With the last stroke of his brush he set her down and through tear filled eyes he could have sworn he saw her blink at him and he smiled. 

“That piece is more beautiful than your last young one. You have high talent in this field. What have you named her?”

Harry turned to look at the puppet master with a soft tear streaked smile, “Hedwig, after my oldest friend. She was a snowy owl and a birthday gift.”

The elder man nodded before leaning back and cracking his spine in several place, a large smile spreading across his face, “Set her on the window sill to dry. I want you to help me with something today.”

The war hero nodded lifting the gentle creature and setting her on one of the few window sills in the room. When he turned back he saw the man sitting in front of the large doll, his face set in a frown as he analyzed it and rubbed his swollen and cracked knuckles. 

Harry slowly moved forward and stood next to the man whose face seemed an almost weathered brown in the now bright lighting, “You seem in great thought Master”

The man sighed and nodded before cracking one of the swollen knuckles with a sickening pop, “Look at this creation of mine. If you would choose a color for his eyes, what would it be?”

The wizards paused, how was it his right to choose the eye color of this man’s masterpiece. With an almost hesitant voice he murmured, “Perhaps a shade of yellow?”

Master Yung nodded before sighing gently, “Work on what medium you like today. My age seems to have caught up with me. I wish to sleep.”

Harry watched as the elder man walked back out of the small workshop into the living area before turning and looking about him, he finally felt at home.

\----Time Skip----  
Three months seemed to pass like a blink in the eye to Harry. Ever since he took up this old traditional art he felt like his life wasn’t as crappy as it used to be. He was sleeping better and finding something to do with his life. He even made a room in Grimmauld to fit his new hobby and life choice. He still wasn’t sure if he should tell other people. After all, this wasn’t their life and they would only ruin it for him in the end. Tell him that it wasn’t what a hero should be doing. No he couldn’t let them have this; it was his and his alone, to nurture and grow to fit his own priorities. 

Finally after such a long time Harry truly thought he was beginning to look human to himself again. His cheeks where fuller his eyes were lit again though still dull compared to their original fire. He had filled out and his nightmares came less and less. He was finally beginning to enjoy life some more. He felt…free. 

Even now he sat close to his Master, back to back, working on his newest project. The doll was hardly taller than his arm was long, Small and childlike down to the dimples in the cheeks. He was proud of this creation; it was to be his first doll. It always amused him to know that this small delicate piece was being done by his own hand. He had never been one for patience of any kind when he was in school. Then again who had time for patience when running and fighting against a mad man?

Harry smiled and hummed gently as he sat the small doll in his lap. Carefully he lifted her small hand and painted a deep blue along the surface of the nails. Working on this doll had such a calming effect on him. Like she was sapping out all the dark memories of her child hood and locking them away in her small wooden chest. He gave a soft chuckle even as he thought, shaking his head of such absurd thoughts. 

Cradling the doll in his arms he finished the blue nail color and set the paint aside before picking up a deep pinkish red and slowly spreading it across her lips. This was the last detail. He had saved these two things for last. Smiling he brushed the deep red hair out of the small sweet doll face before blowing gently at the paint to dry it. Lifting it he set it onto the wooden perch he had built for her a month earlier. Behind him his Master still worked at the same human sized doll, its eyes still blank and unpainted. The elder’s health had been failing more and more as the cold of winter set in. 

A large crash came from behind him and Harry turned his green eyes lighting up with worry. His master was sprawled out on the wooden floor a deep brown paint spilled about him staining his white knit vest. The trained wizard soldier fell from his seat and on his knees next to his master who still coughed a paint smudged hand over his mouth as a bright red covered the palm of his hand. Blood.

Harry slowly helped his Master site up and whispered, “What do I do?”

The man groaned as the coughing subsided, “D…Don’t you worry son. I’m an old sick man. You have no need to be so concerned for my health.” His chest heaving with more deep raspy coughs.

Harry shushed him gently before helping the man stand and carried him to his bed. Laying his master on the plush blue comforter bed he whispered gently, “Don’t leave me please. You’re all I have left.”

The man laughed roughly, deep lines etched into his features, “Oh my boy you have your creations with you always. I must, I must tell you something.”

Harry whispered gently, “Don’t strain yourself please”

The man shook his head, “No, I must tell you. I must.”

The wizard smiled sadly and took his masters hand, “Alright”

The man smiled before a strain of coughs rained from his mouth. When they subsided he looked into the green eyes of his apprentice. “My family, the greedy folks they are. Demanded I give them everything when I passed. I know the court will give it to them. But they can’t have my dolls. My son, Harry, they can’t have my dolls. Hide my children. Take my children and yours and run with them. I won’t live till dawn so you must”

Harry let a tear fall down his cheek, “No you can’t, you have one left to finish!”

The man smiled sadly and patted Harry’s hand, “He is yours now. Now please go with them. Run with them.”

Harry leaned over nodding kissing the man on the forehead. “Thank you for everything.”

“Go!”

Harry kissed the man’s cheek before standing and fleeing to the other room. The only person in his life was leaving him. With tears rolling down his face he pulled an old trunk from beneath the table. Spelling it he opened the now portable room. Looking around the work shop he sighed gently. His master wanted him to have these things, to keep them from the family that never loved him. He looked around him one last time and wiped the tears from his cheek before pulling his wand from his sleeve. Waving his wand he murmured a quick spell shrinking the dolls and tools from the work area down and gently into the trunk. Shutting it he shrinked it and placed it in his pocket. 

Walking to the front room he saw a tall Asian women getting out of a long limo a sneer on her voice as she shouted, “Come on I bet Uncle has already croaked! The lawyer will be here shortly as well. 

Harry narrowed his eyes before looking over at a box sitting on the floor. Smiling he quickly picked up the box while Waiving his wand the dolls instantly shrunk to no larger than his pink and settled gently into the box with a quick protection charm on each. Then for his final act he conjured several matching dolls to line the wall for show. None of them real but they would be passable. Smiling at the dolls in his hand he went back into the workshop area and pulled a small square wooden board from a cupboard that he didn’t empty. Placing it over the dolls carefully he set extra pieces of carving wood and the carving tool from his hair along with a few shavings. 

Whispering and apology to the dolls he walked back into his Masters room the man’s breathing had evened out but he was still pale and week. Setting the box at the foot of the chair next to the bed Harry sat the box firmly between his legs. Carefully he lifted a block of wood and the knife quick fingers shaving off large curls of wood. This was like riding a broom for him and with as much as he wood widdled by the time the woman and the man accompanying her appeared in the room the block was well on its way to being carved into a wolf head.

She sneered and glared at him, “Who are you”

Harry looked up and smiled sadly giving them a low nod, “Harry, I am the Master’s Apprentice.”

The woman crossed her arms over the mink fur coat, “He has no apprentice”

The soldier smiled, “Well then perhaps I am just a good friend visiting.”

The woman growled darkly, “Well you need to leave before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

Harry flared darkly but allowed the unfinished wolf head and knife fall into the box lifting it he bowed to the woman. Before he could leave her glove hand caught the box, “and what is this, are you a thief to?”

Harry’s free hand clenched and he turned to face her, “No ma’am, these are my belongings. The box is filled with my wood whittling tools.”

The woman lifted the right side of her lip in a snarl, “Get lost”

The wizard gave a bow before quickly making a run for it. To his motorcycle and then securing the box on the back he made his way home, precious cargo in tow.

-Time Skip-  
It took him a month to finally get up the courage to go through the things he had rescued from that woman’s clutches. He had cleaned out two more rooms next to the one he had already made up as a secondary work room. Though soon even that was dismantled. The first room he decked out in deep browns and blues. Wall after wall of shelves. Each shelf had small cushions with golden plaques for each doll he had rescued of his Masters. One by one the dolls where placed into their proper place and their names etched into each plaque. 

Smiling he turned to the second door in the room. It was one the opposite wall as the entrance door was. Smiling he opened the door and found a room done in deep greys and greens. A bit slytherin but it was soothing. Unlike the other room this room had one wall dedicated to cabinets and counters with three sinks placed in specific intervals. Two more walls had several rows of shelves just like the room previous with their own cushions and plaque. Three tables where set around the room each with its own work benches and stools.

This was his new work place and he was very proud of his self. Turning to the unpacked chest he took a deep breath before slowly opening it. One by one he removed the small boxes of tools sorting them away into the proper cabinets, bowls stacked neatly next to the sinks. Sponges in the right drawer with clothes both dry. His personal finished projects placed on the shelves In his shop. He liked keep his own creations near him. Even little Amelia, his very first doll, sat perched to watch over his studio. 

Finally there was only one last thing to unpack. His Master’s greatest work, and only unfinished project. Taking a long deep breath he drew out the unfinished creation taking in the unpainted eyes. The braided and sewed in hair of ebony strands fell to the dolls waist in thick loose curls. He knew his Master meant to straighten them. Smiling he lifted the dolls hand inspecting the gentle craftsmanship. The delicate nails to the roughened palm of the hands. Each detail had been counted for. He let the hand drop as a tear slid down his cheek. 

Falling onto the bench he let the tears slide down his face freely. No longer ashamed to let them fall. The only person who understood him was now dead. With an almost hysterical chuckle Harry gazed at the unfinished doll and smiled, “You understand me though right? All of you do. Ebony, Hedwig, Amelia. They hear me, the know me.” Nodding he laid back against the bench. “and yet I am still lonely”

He let his eyes close as he brought his arm up to drape over the now closed emerald orbs. “What would Hermione and Ron say if they could see me like this?”

“I would say that you have lost your bloody mind mate”

Harry sat up and turned to see Ron standing there his arm wrapped around a very pregnant Hermione. “What, what are you guys doing here?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “To visit you, and now we find you playing with dolls? What has happened to you Harry”

“Ya mate this can’t be normal”

Standing his emerald eyes blazing, “It is a craft, and one that I enjoy.”

“Playing with Dolls? Harry you’re a bit old for that?” Ron’s voice seemed annoyed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Harry why don’t you stay with us for a while. Your family and Ginny would love to see you again” her voice soft and loving.

Harry growled and stood up his eyes blazing with anger, “Well I don’t want to see Ginny. She is a gold digging bitch and I want nothing to do with her!”

Ron stepped forward his cheeks red and puffy, “That is my sister you’re talking about”

“Oh shut up, you’re just as bad as she is. Gold digging lunatics. You don’t give a shit about me just my money and how you can get your grubby hands on it!” Harry’s temper grew quickly. He was so tired of all this bullshit. He knew why they were here.

Hermione stepped forward, “Harry your upset, you need to go see Pomfrey, or perhaps Dumbledore.”

Harry cried out in anger before throwing his hand at the two shoving them not only from the room but from his house as well. With a few deep pants he let himself slide to the floor. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of …”

His voice trailing off as black spotted his vision. That had taken a lot more magic than he had cared to use at the time. Leaning back against the bench he gave a low laugh, would teach them to come in when they aren’t wanted. He would have to reconfigure the wards to disallow them. With a sigh of tiredness he let his mind go dark.


End file.
